


Coming Down

by susiephalange



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Chuck is God, Demons, Drama, F/M, Fangirls, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fighting, Fluff, Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bookish, curiosity-inclined Reader finds herself in the middle of what seems to be...a Supernatural book?<br/>Previously titled <i>I found God</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I found God

**Author's Note:**

> (b/n) means brother's name. And if you don't have a brother pretend a guy friend you have is your brother. Or just make one up with your handy-dandy imagination!

Books.

It seemed you were in that point of your life when there was nothing better than the words shaped by Carver Edlund, the writer of the fantasy series, ' _Supernatural_ '. Your brother, (b/n) had introduced you to Sam and Dean ages ago, and since he was off at college you were allowed free range of his copies of the . But it wasn't Sam and Dean or the angel Castiel which caught your interest; it was the author.

Carver Edlund didn't sound much like a real name. It sounded too... _too_ for an author. So many forums later, discussions on online forums and avoiding the hardcore Sam fangirl Becky, you came to the conclusion: there was literally nothing out there about the author.

Many months later after your dead-end research passed, you found yourself on the front porch, sitting cross-legged looking to the stars. No more books had been published in a long time, and without the paperback shield to hide behind, you felt more exposed at school, especially with (b/n) not there to help.

It was then you heard a gunshot. Then two more.

It wasn't that unusual to hear firearms in your area; it wasn't that great a place to live. But when another seven more shots were fired, followed by an unearthly screech, you paled. It seemed almost out of one of those books you'd read of Carver Edlund's - _but_ , you thought bitterly, _they weren't real_.

And then suddenly, you felt a chill rush down your back. No, it couldn't be, it wasn't a windy night -

"So you're the next one for the 'adventure', aren't you? Pretty one." Your head turned slowly, trying your best to hide your fright, to see a lanky man, with jet black eyes which bore into your soul without depth. "You're afraid."

"You're -," you stuttered, your nails digging into your palms, "Demon."

The demon chuckled, an eye roll accompanying it. "First hunter to know that before they're taught..." he noted your confusion, "What, didn't you know (b/n) was a hunter?"

"Who - hunter? I'm like, only (y/a)...I must have hit my head, this is just like those books..." You whispered, but when you pinched your arm, nothing happened.

"Suppose this is where it finishes for you, little hunter." The demon grinned eerily, his eyes flashing back to colours. His hand reached forward to you, nails sharpened like claws -

 _Splash_!

The demon screamed, and you leapt back to see the steam rising from his skin. Holy water. You turned to the attacker, noticing the demon trap on the ledge above your head for the first time, and gasped.

"No," you whispered, completely weirded out my now. "No freaking way."

Standing side by side were plaid-wearing leather clad brown and blonde tall men, who looked so completely just like the guys from the front covers from your brother's ' _Supernatural_ ' books. If it weren't for the black eyes of the demon earlier, you would have thought the two men to be just LARPing like you on a regular once a month occasion. You couldn't help but think of other things as a string of Latin came from their mouths, and it was then you noticed the car on the street as the black smoke exited the guy stuck in the demon trap.

It seemed to surreal to be true.

"You're - you're Sam. And - Dean," you breathed, gazing up to them. "The brothers. Hunters."

"Oh no, is this from the most wanted list?" Sam cussed.

"No, no...I didn't know you were _real_ until a couple of minutes ago..." you breathed, looking down at your feet. To day it was an eventful day would be an understatement. "I read -,"

"Oh God, _another_ fangirl?" Dean winced. You saw he did his best to not roll his eyes. "I don't think we can handle another Becky."

You laughed. "You've met - never-mind. I'm not a crazy fangirl, I just like reading the..." you remembered the demon, and added, "Do you two know my brother, (b/n) _______? The demon said he was a hunter -,"

"Yeah, uh, we do!" Sam smiled. "He's at Chuck's place," he noticed your confusion and added, "Chuck is our friend, he's a prophet, someone who writes down the word of God. He, uh, wrote -,"

"You mean my brother has been tricking my family to think he's been at college when he's off beheading vampires and exorcising demons just like in the books?" You fumed, "Take me to him, please, it's the least you can do."

 

 

 

**One road trip later**

You jumped out of the impala as soon as it stopped on the edge of the curb beside a typical suburban house and stormed up the pavement with Sam and Dean hot on your heels. It had been a long trip to get to the guy Chuck's house, but that didn't stop your anger.

The front door to the house swung open and the face of (b/n) popped out. "________! How did you find me?"

You stopped walking, almost having the brothers collide into you. "Find you? I was nearly killed! And these guys show up - just like in the books! (B/n), you have a lot of explaining to do!" You cried.

"Er, yeah, about that..." He winced, "That's a talk that's better done inside... Hey, Sam, Dean," your brother waved to the boys, and stood aside the door to let you all pass in.

"(B/n) what's going on with the - hey, Sam Dean, that was a quick hunt - oh hi, who are you?"

Your anger vaporised when you saw the guy speaking. He looked not too older than (b/n), with an unshaven scruffy beard and tired eyes. He looked like a lost puppy in his own home. He looked adorable.

"I'm _______, (b/n)'s sister," you blurted out. "Are you - I mean, sorry if I'm blunt, are you Chuck?"

He nodded, looking down. "Yeah - yep, that's me."

Despite being angry at your brother when he stage whispered to you four words - _he wrote the books_ \- you almost jumped out of your skin.

"You wrote the books? Wow, you're Carver Edlund! You're so cool! Sam said you were a prophet..."

Chuck cleared his throat. "I uh, I write the word of God. Everything I write comes true."

Dean broke the awkward atmosphere as he laughed behind you. "It does, trust me."

You nodded. "Does this mean -,"

(B/n) nodded. "A couple of weeks ago I got off a hunt for a poltergeist with these two and get a call from Chuck saying his next vision has you in it. Coming here. I'm sorry I lied about college, although I'm pretty sure at college you don't learn ancient Egyptian spells and read up on mythology and weird creatures."

You shrugged. "I don't mind, just don't get me almost killed. I've always wanted to be in this kind of world."

Sam chuckled.

"Yeah, doesn't get boring." Chuck smiled.


	2. Found Him in a Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After waking up alone, and finding no trace of Chuck, you're on a mission to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love Chuck (・∀・ );

When you wake, the bed beside you is cold. Your eyes, bleary, try to make out your boyfriend's form, but no avail. There is no Chuck-shaped silhouette by the base of the bed, nor by the window to watch the sunrise. Slowly, you stretch and slide from beneath the sheets to seek for the man you called your other half. The adjacent bathroom, empty. The same said for the kitchen, and the writing room. The spare room which housed stray hunters was barren also. For the first time since you had left your old life, you feel alone.

"Charles?" Your voice crackles. “Chuck?”

But the house is devoid of an answer.

The first thing you think to do is call (b/n). He would have an answer; he was always knees-deep in this sort of business. But, he was away with Ash and a handful of other hunters for a trip to Minnesota. Something about vampires. Your hand reaches for the wall phone, but before your fingers can call the next contact on your list, the handset rings.

It's Sam.

"You wouldn't have Chuck handy at the moment, _________? We're in need of his skills," the long-haired hunter plead over the phone line. You could hear the urgency in his voice, almost the same as what you felt in your chest.

You shake your head sadly, "I can't find Chuck, honestly. The last I saw him was last night, and he's just…vanished." You admit. Your other hand, the empty hand flexes, feeling empty of warmth. Of Chuck’s hold.  "I was about to call you two to check if _you_ had seen him."

After the younger Winchester leaves dial tone, you check meticulously through all of your contacts, but by the time you have, it's clear. Nobody, not even Rufus, or Bobby has seen Chuck. He's gone. _Poof_. Missing.

"Oh my gosh," you moan.

Your hand releases the phone. It falls on its string, thumping the wall with a finite sound. It sounds like a gavel, marking the sentence someone, or something has forced onto you. And slowly, sliding down the wall to curl into a ball, you sit. You couldn't help but wonder if he had been abducted. Taken by something supernatural. Something out of your payload, or even abilities to fix. Maybe he just got up and left you, left his life. But he was mid-chapter, your brain niggles. He wouldn't do that; his books were his life. You had been his life; it was almost your two year-anniversary.

A cry comes from somewhere, most certainly not from your mouth. It sounds dead, and derelict, a moan that could resurrect something very wrong indeed. The cry turns into a sob, and slowly, into words.

"Chuck, where are you?"

 

It would seem to be years since that wretched morning that you had spent away from Chuck. But in fact, it had only been a handful of months, and there was no word from anyone where Charles "Chuck" Shurley had evaporated from the face of the earth to. How could that be? He never had any enemies, and even with the help of the Winchesters to track a now-cold trail, there seemed to be nothing. At all.

He had promised you adventure, and had offered love. And without him, you were just ______ once more, the one who just read his things and not helped compose them. So, like anyone who was bereft of their loved one, you did what you thought best.

"You haven't seen Sam Winchester lately, have you?" The psychic Pamela strokes your hand, her would-be wistful smile as wicked as the day is long. "How's that fine piece of ass going these days, huh?"

You chuckle. "He's great, Pam. And so is his bum."

"Fantastic," she grins, and leads you deftly to the table she has set in her living room. This isn't your first séance, and it most certainly will not be your last, knowing the things Chuck got himself into. _Gets_. He isn't dead. Is he? "So, do you have something of this guy, your boyfriend Chuck? It would help a lot more than _you_ picturing his ass."

You reach into your bag, and slide it out. Wrapped in brown paper, you draw out his pen. It used to never leave his side at the desk; it was an old thing, that looked like it once could dip ink like a quill and scrawl upon parchment. But in your hands it was not only an archaic antique item. It was something of the man you lost.

“So, that emotional ride done, place it in the middle,” Pamela motions to the centre of the table, where a small chrome dish sits, “And I’ll get on with the good stuff.”

You follow her lead, and before you know it, she’s chanting Latin and phrases you don’t comprehend and suddenly, there’s a chill down your spine. But there are no windows ajar, and it’s barely even Autumn.

“He’s not … I c-,” Pamela recoils. She winces in pain, and grunts. “Okay, this has _never_ happened before...he’s just a guy, not that Ass-tiel jerk.” She grimaces, and commands, “Chuck Shurley, show yourself!”

The breeze increases, your hair moved astray. “Chuck?” you call out. “If your archangels are protecting you…Chuck, it’s me, _______. Where are you?” you plead.

The wind disappears. Pam gasps, and releases her hand from yours. She reaches for her shades, and as she removes them, her mouth moves even more ajar. “Wh-what -,”

Her eyes, as bright as the night is dark, stare into your own.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

Pamela nods, but her mouth is pulled into a grimace, one of despair. “For whatever reason, now I can see. But I can’t see, with these bad-boys, or the incantation, where your prophet boyfriend has been magicked away to.” You feel your heart fall deeper into your chest, sinking lower and lower. “I’m sorry, ______.”

 

As the keys jingle in the lock, it seems a dark cloud has descended over you, darkening your hope. You had spent so long, just to find the same dead end that you had found the day Chuck had been missing. Why had you even hoped?

You enter the house, but instead of it feeling cold, empty, bereft, it is warm. Something is inside the home.

But before you can reach for your angel blade, you are rendered speechless.

Because standing in the middle of the writing room, is Chuck.

“Hello, ________.”

Your heart races, faster than you had ever anticipated it to achieve. It beats a rhythm in you so loud, you cannot hear, so bright you cannot see anything in the dated house but Chuck. He stands the same, no hair moved a place on his head from the last time you had set eyes on him that night, his lips pulled into a kind, small smile.

“You left me,” you swallow. Tears threaten to escape, but something unknown holds them back. “Wh-where did you go to?” He is silent. “Chuck?”

He bows his head, and wiping his face, you see a flash of guilt cross his face. “I’m not Chuck.”

The angel blade in your jacket feels cold, hard, ready to impale the imposter. “If you’re not Chuck, then who are you? Or – or I’ll kill you.”

His feet move, pacing unhurriedly over the stained carpet toward you. Every step is a torture, and you wish you were brave enough to strike down this fake man before you before it became gruesome. “I’m not Chuck,” he repeats, raising his hands, palms facing you in surrender, “I’m God.”

Your eyes widen. “This better be a dream,” you whisper. A tear falls. “Where’s Chuck? What have you done with my boyfriend?”

“I loved you too much,” he admits, “I’m the Creator, and I’m supposed to answer prayers and create heavenly answers to problems which won’t matter in millennia.” He lowers his head, hands gripping his hair, “I settled down to write a story, write it for myself for once, and before I knew it, it was published, and I met my characters, and, it happened all so fast – I fell in love with you.”

You stand, still.

“It’s so hard, being this almighty, powerful being, so powerful that can tear apart this flesh and the country in an instant. But I fell in love with you, ________, deeper than anything I’ve made, more than any of my other creations. It scared me, these feelings…they were so human. You have to understand why I left you.”

“Chuck…you’ve always been God?” you whisper.

He nods, face devoid of the easy-going, half-anxious smile you remember.

“I thought your religion isn’t pro bed-sharing until after marriage,” you joke, and add, “I know I’m just a girl. One person, and you fell for me. It’s great, but leaving…it was worse than this – you admitting you’re the most powerful thing alive.” You stare deep into his eyes, and slowly, you add, “Just promise you’ll never leave, Ch-God.”

He nods. “I promise. But, don’t think of me any different, please, ________, it would kill me to think you couldn’t love me as much I you because of what I am.”

“ _Who_ you are,” you correct, and closing the distance between the two of you, you wrap your arms tight around your boyfriend. God. “And I would never. My life is almost empty without you, it felt like it was coming down to nothingness.”

Chuck kisses your lips, a feeling of peace filling your inside and out. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn't very good, but I did my best and that's what counts.
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
